


Happy New Year

by BrushDog



Series: University IwaOi [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Doggy Style, Established Relationship, M/M, Oikawa is a tease, References to Illness, Sexual Tension, dumb boys at new years, family visits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 10:32:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6851143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrushDog/pseuds/BrushDog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi finds an unexpected visitor when he comes home for new years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy New Year

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently writing 12k of college aged IwaOi wasn't enough to get the boys out of my system. This fic sprung from some of the discarded snippets that I originally intended to use for [Congratulations](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6573052), but it's nowhere near as angsty. I promise.

The walk home from the train station in late December has become something like a ritual for Iwaizumi. His family isn't exactly what he'd call traditional, but the trappings of the new year still apply. Since his university is in Tokyo and it's only a two hour ride by bullet train back to Miyagi, he makes a point of coming back every year. The chill always hits him the moment he steps out of the station. Miyagi's crisp, mountain air cuts against the fabric of his coat and tickles at his nose with a nostalgic promise of cold and the oncoming winter. He shivers, tightening his grip on the handle of the suitcase that he's shoved two weeks worth of clothes into, and looks out to where the distant mountains loom behind the cityscape. The setting sun is already starting to dye the sky behind them in deep hues of red and orange despite the fact that it's only early evening.

Sometimes his parents come to meet him at the station, fussing over him and asking prying questions for the entire walk home, but this year's a little different from most. Usually he heads home as soon as the break begins, spending two weeks under his mother's watchful eye in the comfortable familiarity of his old home.

This year he's later. School projects and a few days of very necessary cramming and catch up requiring the resources that only a university library could provide kept him confined to his tiny dorm until there are only a few days left until the new year. That's also why there's no one to greet him at the station. He'd texted his mom when he got off the bullet train in Sendai and her reply had only come a few minutes later, apologizing and telling him that she'd just started on the kuro mame and she didn't want to leave the house with the stove on. It's fine though. After the rush and hustle of school work and projects, even a little bit more time spent alone with his thoughts is a welcome thing.

His feet carry him past the department store near the station, the one that Oikawa would drag him to sometimes in high school, the two of them lounging in the food court after Saturday practice. They'd argue about something--usually related to volleyball, but not always--before either the afternoon slipped into evening and they made their way home together or one of Oikawa's fans would try to steal his attention away and Iwaizumi would head home on his own out of disgust and boredom. Yet looking back on it now, he can't think of a single time that Oikawa didn't follow after, catching him in the parking lot or a few blocks away, always a little breathless from running to close the distance between them.

Iwaizumi had thought it was strange at the time. Didn't Oikawa love the attention the girls gave him? Iwaizumi didn't care if he drank it up or not as long as it didn't get in the way of practice or games and as long as Iwaizumi himself didn't have to sit around and suffer through it. But the past few months have given him more than enough perspective to understand Oikawa's seemingly bizarre behavior.

Letting out a slow breath, Iwaizumi self-consciously rubs at the side of his neck, where his scarf hides a fading mark that he knows is still visible even though it's days old now. He'd had the burden of schoolwork sapping away at his free time, but Oikawa had it worse. His practice schedule was demanding yet, and that was on top of his own pile of schoolwork and studies to keep under control. The last time Iwaizumi saw him was at the behest of a spur of the moment text message at ten o'clock one Sunday night. He'd been leaving the library, so it wasn't too difficult to change his route, catch the train heading into the city instead of out of it, and find himself at Oikawa's doorstep a little more than twenty minutes later.

His cheeks flush at the memory of it. Oikawa was going back to visit his family only a few nights after that, they both knew they wouldn't see each other until after the new year, so it was probably that subconscious urge to make up for lost time, to memorize the touch and feel of each other's bodies that had spurred them both on. Iwaizumi had wound up staying the night, but upon waking to Oikawa's arms curled firmly around his waist, Oikawa's breath brushing the nape of his neck he couldn't really say he regretted it.

He can't even really call the sort of intensity they had in that moment ridiculous, because even though it's only been a few days since he saw Oikawa last--and probably less than an hour since the last text message he sent--the steady beat of nostalgia just beside Iwaizumi's heart is pressing against his lungs with a force that makes it harder to breath. He misses Oikawa.

Stuffing one hand deep into the pocket of his jacket, Iwaizumi's fingertips curl over the smooth plastic of his phone. He knows there's no new message, he checked when he texted his mom to let her know he was on his way back at the station. It hasn't buzzed once since then.

If anyone had told him a year ago that he'd be mooning over Oikawa like some kind of lovestruck teenage girl he probably would have told them they were out of their minds. But a lot can change within a year.

The all too familiar line of the gate to his house slowly peeks out beyond the walls lining the small residential street his family lives on. The promise of home, of his family, pushes the embarrassing preoccupation with Oikawa out of his mind at least for the moment. Iwaizumi fishes about in his pocket for his keys. The gate isn't locked, but the front door will be. He pushes the gate open, stepping into the small yard enclosed inside. Oikawa's house is just to the right, all dark windows and stillness, which at least makes it easier to ignore because he isn't thinking of Oikawa now.

Iwaizumi makes his way up the short, paved path through the yard, twisting his key in the lock on the front door before sliding it open.

"Mom!" he calls out, turning around to lift his suitcase over the threshold before bending down to pull his shoes off. "I'm home!"

"Welcome home, Hajime!" comes a familiar voice from the kitchen.

Iwaizumi can hear the sound of clutter, followed by footsteps in the hall leading out to the entryway. He doesn't think anything of it, more focused on arranging his shoes neatly beside the other pair that's waiting there--

"Iwa-chan, welcome home~"

Iwaizumi's eyes fly wide open, every hair on his body prickling to attention. He whirls around so fast that he nearly loses his balance, but he manages to avoid crashing into the doorway at just the last moment, one hand grabbing to the step up into the house as a last ditch effort at control.

Oikawa looks down on him and smiles.

"Aren't you happy to see me?"

"The hell're you doing here--?!" Iwaizumi blurts out without thinking. He feels his cheeks flush hot a moment later, an answer to Oikawa's question in a language that only Oikawa knows how to speak, but the devious curl of Oikawa's lips is enough to say he understands.

A moment later, Iwaizumi's mom appears from around the corner, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Oh, Tooru's here as well," she says, before pausing a moment, a sharp frown marring her face as she fixes Oikawa with a severe look. "Tooru, didn't you say that you'd told Hajime you'd be here?"

The transformation on Oikawa's face is instantaneous. His smile is pure and sparkling innocence and every ounce of it screams 'bullshit' in Iwaizumi's face.

"Ah, well, you know how busy it is lately, right auntie? I think it just might have slipped my mind."

"Tooru," Iwaizumi's mom says with a tone that could split mountains.

Oikawa grimaces.

Satisfied with that much, she sighs, shaking her head with a harsh click of her tongue.

"You're such a troublesome child. Help Hajime with his luggage, won't you? And tell him why you're here, while you're at it."

"Yes ma'm," Oikawa says, appropriately cowed.

Iwaizumi can't help but grin.

"Good to see you again, mom," he says, pushing himself up with one arm open for a hug.

The edges on his mother's expression soften as she steps forward, wrapping her arms around him once, firmly.

"It's good to see you, Hajime. Now go on, take care of your things. I can't let the beans start burning."

"All right, all right."

Iwaizumi's mom turns back down the hallway to the kitchen leaving them alone in the hallway. Iwaizumi shifts, only fractionally, arms crossed over his chest as he fixes Oikawa with an expectant look.

Oikawa counters with a scowl of his own, hands set on his hips where he's got one of Iwaizumi's mom's less ostentatious aprons tied around his waist.

"You could look a little more happy to see me, Iwa-chan."

"Aren't you supposed to be helping me with my things?"

"Slavedriver," Oikawa says on a sigh, but he makes the motion forward to pick up Iwaizumi's bags where they've fallen in the entryway. "How can you be so harsh after all this time that we've spent apart?"

"It's barely been a week," Iwaizumi retorts, raking a hand through his hair as he moves to follow Oikawa up the stairs. "And you still haven't told me what you're doing here in the first place!"

"I was helping auntie make osechi for you," Oikawa lilts cheerfully, turning the corner to where Iwaizumi's room waits at the end of the hall.

"Before that, Shittykawa," Iwaizumi snaps. "Isn't your family in Nagoya right now?"

"Ah, well, sis and her husband are. But mom and dad couldn't really..." Oikawa's voice trails off as he pushes the door to Iwaizumi's room open, moving to set Iwaizumi's bags on the bed without turning to face him properly.

Iwaizumi may not be as scarily observant and as fast on the pick up as Oikawa himself is, but even a gesture like that tells him that something's wrong. A frown pulls at his lips, his forehead creasing as his eyebrows press together in a tight scowl.

"What's wrong? Did something happen to them--?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Oikawa waves his concern off, turning to fall against Iwaizumi's bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling overhead. "Mom just came down with something. Her fever wasn't going down, so dad had to take her to the hospital yesterday."

"Auntie did?" Iwaizumi's breath catches in his throat. The tense anger slips from his body in a rush, replaced by the colder weight of worry. "Do they know what it is?"

"Pneumonia, maybe?" Oikawa's voice sounds strangely detached. For someone who's usually in a constant state of motion, from the shift and tilt of his head to his hands flying in inane little gestures, he's surprisingly still. Iwaizumi steps forward, coming to rest at the side of the bed, his legs mere centimeters from Oikawa's knees. Oikawa doesn't look to him. He continues speaking to the ceiling. "That's what they said it is. She should be fine, they said, they're just keeping her for a few days to make sure."

"That's some timing," Iwaizumi mutters, unsure of what else to say.

"Isn't it?" Oikawa sighs. His eyes slip closed for a moment. When they open again, he's watching Iwaizumi through lowered lashes. The expression is so familiar it sends a spike of want racing straight down Iwaizumi's spine. He shivers despite himself. Oikawa smiles, satisfied.

"But you know," he continues, shifting slightly against Iwaizumi's bed, stretching both arms out towards him, palms up. "This means I'll get to spend my first New Year's with Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi looks down at the offering, taking in the increasingly familiar sight of Oikawa stretched out against the rumpled sheets of a bed, Oikawa reaching up for him, wanting. His heart tightens in his chest and he reaches out to take Oikawa's hands, letting himself feel the pull downward until he's braced on the bed over him, his knees crouched to either side of Oikawa's hips, back bent and curved. Their fingers thread together, the backs of Oikawa's hands hitting the bed with Iwaizumi's palms pressed tight and hot against his.

"Welcome home, Iwa-chan," Oikawa whispers over Iwaizumi's lips, heated and soft.

Iwaizumi tilts his head up, pulling away from the temptation to pin Oikawa to the bed and take him right then and there. Instead, he presses his lips to Oikawa's forehead, his nose buried in the soft fringe of his bangs.

"I'm home," he says.

"You missed, Iwa-chan," Oikawa whines underneath him.

"My mom's downstairs, you ass," he mutters. With a push, he pull himself off the bed, dragging Oikawa along with him. "And there's osechi to make."

"You're cruel, Iwa-chan."

"Shut up," Iwaizumi says, leaning forward to press a quick, hard kiss to Oikawa's lips before releasing his hand and turning from the room.

From behind him, he hears Oikawa's long, drawn out whine, and it settles in his chest, warm and familiar.

\---

Oikawa's father comes back from the hospital that night with Iwaizumi's father as well. It's a little crowded around the dinner table, but it's still a welcome change of pace. They never had meals with Oikawa's family growing up, obviously, but with Oikawa seated at his side, there's something that feels right about the five of them together like this. 

Even though he'd waved goodnight to Oikawa and his father the night before, somehow, inexplicably, Iwaizumi wakes up with Oikawa's face hovering only centimeters away from his, his lips curled in a contented little grin.

Iwaizumi groans, shoving a hand into Oikawa's face until he realizes where he is. In that moment, his entire body goes tense, his legs kicking up as he pushes himself off Oikawa's face, launching his body to the far side of the bed.

"You ass," he hisses between his teeth, hand dropping as he pulls in a heavy breath.

"I was just coming to wake you up, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa pouts, turning and crossing his arms over his chest. "What's wrong with a good morning kiss?"

Iwaizumi can feel his eyebrow twitch in frustration, even as the lower part of his body protests that there really isn't anything wrong with that sort of gesture. "My parents," he says, carefully enunciating each syllable. "Are just down the hall."

"They're both already awake, sleepy head," Oikawa says, shrugging lightly. "They told me to let you know breakfast is ready."

"Thanks for the message," Iwaizumi says, pushing out of bed. He steps past Oikawa to the closet, already pulling his pajama pants off as he finds something to wear for the day.

It doesn't take two seconds before the heat of Oikawa's chest is against his back, Oikawa's arms sliding around his waist with practiced familiarity.

Iwaizumi lets a slow breath through his nose. "Shittykawa..."

Oikawa's lips close over his neck in reply, right over the mark he left there. "Don't forget this," he whispers, stepping away before Iwaizumi has a chance to put an elbow to his chest. He's still smiling when Iwaizumi turns on him, one hand slapped up over the fading mark in defense.

"I'll see you at breakfast, Iwa-chan," he says, waving lightly and stepping from the room.

The insistent heat prickling against Iwaizumi's skin and the bulge in Iwaizumi's pants are more than enough of a reminder. He lets out a slow, hissing breath, pressing his forehead against the cool wall of his bedroom. He'd thought having Oikawa in town for the break would be a nice, welcome change of pace. He really should have known better than to expect anything other than this.

That's why, when he feels Oikawa's socked foot brushing up against his bare ankle under the kitchen table at breakfast, Iwaizumi doesn't even hesitate. He tosses Oikawa a searing glare when his mom's back is turned and drives his heel down onto the top of Oikawa's foot hard enough to hold the offending limb in place. When Oikawa's pout says 'Why not?' the barely audible hiss between Iwaizumi's teeth answers him with 'Not here, asshole' and that's all that needs to be said on the topic.

As soon as breakfast is done the plates and food are both swept away with Iwaizumi's mother enlisting their forces in a flurry of preparations for the coming holiday. The activity fortunately serves as a distraction for Oikawa's wandering hands--and feet--and he seems content to turn his usual cheerfully bordering on flirtatious nature towards Iwaizumi's mother in full. None of them rest until two sets of osechi boxes sit piled high on the kitchen table, along with a steaming pot of rice porridge wrapped carefully in a towel.

The second set of boxes is for Oikawa's family, since Iwaizumi's mom knows they haven't had time to prepare for themselves. The porridge is for Oikawa's mother, which they all set out to deliver as soon as their work is done. They all three pile into Iwaizumi's family car, with his mother at the wheel and Iwaizumi in the passenger seat. It isn't a long ride to the hospital, but they aren't even out of the driveway before Oikawa manages to artfully drape himself against the back of Iwaizumi's seat. His hand snakes around the gap between the seat and the door to tease its way under Iwaizumi's shirt, fingertips brushing against skin for only a split second before Iwaizumi holds them in a deathgrip.

Iwaizumi's skin is prickling even from the brief touch. He pushes back a shudder and far too many vivid memories of exactly what Oikawa's hands are capable of, of Oikawa's fingertips dancing over his hipbones and abdomen and lower.

'Not now,' the full force of his grip and the tension around Oikawa's hand says.

'Meanie,' Oikawa says with the way his fingers go limp in Iwaizumi's hold.

Iwaizumi lets out a rough breath through his nose, refusing to dignify that with any other reply. But when Oikawa doesn't try to pull away, doesn't try to touch him again, Iwaizumi notices. It isn't like him. Oikawa is stubborn to the end, but he's never been one to merely accept an obstacle that stands in his way. He'll either press until he finds a weak point in whatever defenses he's up against--be it an enemy team or Iwaizumi's own willpower--or he'll pull back, regroup, and attack at a different angle.

The slight weight of Oikawa's fingers in his are neither of these.

Iwaizumi suddenly recalls the stillness of Oikawa's body against his bed the night before, the dull tenor of his usually expressive voice.

He sighs, shifting his grip on Oikawa's hand, carefully lacing their fingers together, hidden from his mother's line of sight. He squeezes Oikawa's hand once.

'I'm here with you, idiot,' it says.

\---

Growing up, Iwaizumi always saw Oikawa's family as an extension of his own. Oikawa's older sister was like a teasing cousin, his mother a warm and caring aunt, his father a sometimes absent but otherwise congenial uncle. Seeing Oikawa's mother spread out on a hospital bed, an IV drip taped down in the hollow of one elbow, with her usually vibrant expression peaked and worn is like having a heavy blanket thrown suddenly over his shoulders. It's not so much that he can't bear it, that he couldn't shrug it off if he wanted to, but the pressure of it alone throws his balance off. It crawls down between his shoulderblades, leaving him unsettled and uncomfortable in his own skin.

There's nothing of Oikawa's earlier mood in the way he is now. He chats openly and amiably with his mother, with Iwaizumi's mother, and with his sister, her husband, and several other extended family members on speaker phone from Nagoya. Iwaizumi shares in his part of the well wishes. He answers questions from those of Oikawa's family who know him about his school work and college life. All they know is whatever Oikawa sees fit to tell them, after all, and Hajime knows well enough that Tooru can't be trusted to give an honest account of some things, doesn't he?

The indignant reactions that startle out of Oikawa draws some of the weight away, leaving Iwaizumi more relaxed until the topic of conversation turns to Oikawa and the rigor of his training for the national team. There's a fire in Oikawa's eyes when he answers. It doesn't carry the same intensity that it would on the court, or even in the presence of a fellow player. Iwaizumi still knows it well enough to see it in the way his shoulders square, in the easy confidence suffused throughout his voice.

Iwaizumi's mind instantly draws back to the night before, to the morning after. His skin prickles with fresh memories of Oikawa's wrists in his hands, Oikawa's lips burning against his neck. Oikawa casts a sideways glance at him and he knows damn well that the desire in his eyes is clear as day to Oikawa.

Visiting hours are almost over anyway, so Iwaizumi mutters out a lie that he needs to use the bathroom, and beats a hasty retreat.

One meandering search, a full minute of cold water in his face, and a slow walk back finds Iwaizumi bonelessly collapsed on a bench just outside of Oikawa's mother's room.

His pulse is still racing despite his best efforts. The tips of his fingers burn with the need to touch, to feel Oikawa's skin beneath them, and he's honestly judging himself for how pathetic he is right now. Closing his eyes, he lets his head fall back against the wall with a satisfying thud. He draws a breath in through his nose and lets it out through pursed lips with a burst.

Maybe it's the unexpected circumstances, he tells himself. He'd already mentally prepared himself for spending two weeks without Oikawa, so having him so close, just outside of his reach, just makes him want to reach out and grab what he shouldn't have been able to have. But another part of him, probably one of the few parts that's still thinking rationally, reminds him that it isn't just Oikawa's presence that's unexpected. The uncomfortable plastic of the bench under his legs and the sterile scent tickling against his nose are reminder enough of that.

Iwaizumi's seen Oikawa brought low in countless ways. He's seen him overworked, overtired, in defeat, in rejection, in anger, but never in the sort of sadness he saw the night before. Iwaizumi knows how to drag Oikawa up when he's down. He knows how to punch through that thick skull of his to pull him to the place where he needs to be, but this isn't the sort of situation where Oikawa needs to be brought anywhere. In his mother's sickness, Oikawa is just a bystander. They're both nothing more than bystanders.

Iwaizumi's hand closes on air at his side. Fingertips squeeze against his palm until the tension of his muscles starts to strain and he releases. He hates being a bystander. He wants to do something, anything, to set it all at ease.

Without warning, two hands close over Iwaizumi's wrists, a pair of lips stealing a kiss against his own before darting away as quickly as they came.

Iwaizumi flails back to attention under the hold, arms jerking away, eyes flaring wide open as he shoves himself back against the hospital bench.

Oikawa's grip remains tight, his smile satisfied and self-assured. His hands squeeze over Iwaizumi's wrists once, only for an instant, before releasing him.

"I found you."

"I was just in the hall, you ass," Iwaizumi hisses from behind the back of his hand, pressed over his lips in a gesture that looks properly scandalized from Oikawa's perspective. "We're in a hospital!"

"I know, I know, but auntie asked me to see where you'd gotten off to," Oikawa answers, waving his hand dismissively. "It's time to head home, she said."

"Tch," Iwaizumi exhales. He drops his hand, scrubbing his fingers over his face and through his hair instead.

He can feel Oikawa's gaze on him the whole time, Oikawa watching him as he sets himself to rights, Oikawa's eyes tracking him as he pushes off the bench to stand. It isn't until his head lifts at the end that he meets Oikawa's gaze with his own, his expression even and calm.

Oikawa isn't watching him with the sort of sharp-eyed scrutiny that Iwaizumi usually receives from him. His brown eyes are distant, unfocused, like he's looking at Iwaizumi but at the same time seeing something beyond Iwaizumi, an image that's only playing in Oikawa's mind.

It makes the few centimeters that divide them feel a thousand times greater. As if reaching out his hand to touch Oikawa now would just meet with empty air and nothing more.

Iwaizumi scowls. He hates that feeling. He hates that look in Oikawa's eyes. But in this, at least, he can do something.

He reaches out, catching Oikawa's hand in his. His fingers dive into the empty spaces between Oikawa's, winding a tight net about his hand that he punctuates with a staccato squeeze. Iwaizumi only catches the edge of Oikawa's surprise in the lift of his eyebrows, his mouth hanging open, before he turns away, pulling Oikawa with him back towards the hospital room.

"Let's go home," he says.

\---

It's December 31st. Usually the date doesn't mean much more to Iwaizumi than a lazy morning spent in bed with the promise of a warm family meal before settling in to watch the Kouhaku like they do every year. They'll visit the shrine on the first or maybe the second, but his family's never been one to stake it out for the ringing of the bells at midnight.

This year, it's different. After the hospital visits and the unsettling weight that he can't hope to force from his shoulders, he needs something different. He tells his mom about his idea at dinner and she agrees wholeheartedly. At ten o'clock, he drags his coat out of the closet, pulls his shoes on and shouts a goodbye to his mom and dad where they've settled down in front of the TV.

At five past ten he's ringing the buzzer on Oikawa's front gate.

Oikawa's face pops up on the tiny screen, scowling curiously when he sees it's just Iwaizumi.

"What is it, Iwa-chan? Did you need something?"

"Get your coat on," Iwaizumi says, clipped and direct. "We're going to the temple."

"Uh--?" Oikawa stammers, tinny through the intercom speaker, his expression twisted in surprise. "I thought you always stayed in and watched Kouhaku?"

"This isn't the same as always. Hurry up and get your ass out here."

Whatever protest Oikawa had planned, it dies when Iwaizumi pulls his finger from the intercom button, plunging the screen into darkness. Satisfied, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat and waits.

Ten minutes later, the door to Oikawa's house opens. Oikawa and his father both step out onto the path towards the front gate. Iwaizumi's gaze flicks from Oikawa's father to him with a slight raise of his eyebrow. Oikawa gives him a sharp smile in reply.

"Ah," Iwaizumi says, "You didn't have to come with us, uncle."

"I know, I know," Oikawa's father says, his hands waving through the air in an echo of Oikawa's familiar gesture. "The hospital has special visiting hours tonight. I thought I could drop both of you off at the temple on my way there."

"Oh," Iwaizumi says, bowing his head automatically, "Thank you."

When he looks back up, Oikawa's expression is so smug that it's insufferable.

Iwaizumi resists the urge to smack it off his face.

The ride to the temple isn't far. It's a straight shot until the road begins to twist and turn at the mountain's base, eventually coming to an end at an already crowded parking lot. Oikawa's father doesn't both trying to find a spot, he simply lets the two of them out and waves goodbye as he turns to make his way back to the hospital.

Oikawa's demeanor shifts the moment he's out of view. He turns to Iwaizumi, an easy smile standing out on his cheeks flushed from the cold, something playful lurking beneath his eyes in the dark.

"You know, Iwa-chan, I'm glad you wanted to spend some time with me together, but don't you think you could have picked a place where we could be a little more alone?"

"Are you complaining?" Iwaizumi huffs, watching the breath mist in the air in front of him.

"I'm not complaining," Oikawa sings back to him, shoulders rolling easily under his heavy coat. "Every moment I spend with Iwa-chan is a blessing."

Iwaizumi cuffs the back of Oikawa's head with one gloved hand. Oikawa yelps indignantly, until he sees Iwaizumi's hand turned up toward him in offering.

"Come on," Iwaizumi says, "We've still gotta make it up to the temple."

Oikawa takes his hand without complaint, his fingers a tight warmth as they thread into Iwaizumi's own.

To say that the path on the way to the temple is crowded is an understatement. It's absolutely packed. Iwaizumi has to slow his gait to avoid stepping onto the people standing in front of him or the small children wandering underfoot. There's stalls lit up to either side of the path carving its way up to the mountain to the temple. The usual festival fare is all there, clouds of steam lifting the tantalizing scents of soba, takoyaki, and squid into the crisp winter air. Iwaizumi jostles against older men and women, boys with collars pulled up to their red tipped ears and girls decked out in kimono with their fur ruffs pulled tightly around their shoulders.

Not once does Oikawa's hand leave his. Oikawa's gaze doesn't even stray as a passing group of girls makes eyes at him, their hair decorations chiming as their heads turn, fingers tipped red with the cold curling over carefully painted lips to hide their smiles and laughter. Iwaizumi glances aside more than once. It isn't like Oikawa to be this quiet. Yet every time he looks, he finds Oikawa with a distant look in his eyes that draws back into sharp focus as Oikawa's eyes flick up to meet Iwaizumi's.

Oikawa quirks an eyebrow and Iwaizumi looks away. 'What is it?' Oikawa's asked. 'It's nothing,' Iwaizumi's gesture says.

They continue on until they reach the walls of the temple proper. The temple itself is lit from below, beams of light cutting visible trails upward through the miasma of incense rising sluggishly up from the burner at the center of the courtyard.

Iwaizumi is struck for a moment at how stunning the sight of it is. The contrast of light on the dark backdrop of the mountain forests, vermillion and white cutting an imposing silhouette against inky black. He doesn't realize that he's stopped until he feels the tug of Oikawa's hand in his.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, pulling him out of the flow of people still streaming in through the temple gates. "Come on, let's sit down."

"Ah--" Iwaizumi nearly stumbles over himself, forgetting his words and everything else except for the pull of Oikawa's hand on his. He finds them all a moment later, scattered and out of order. "Yeah--sorry."

"It's all right," Oikawa's steady hum somehow carries over the din of the temple grounds. He turns away from Iwaizumi, weaving them in and out the crowd, around the lines for  _ omamori _ and  _ omikuji _ until they find a fortunately unoccupied bench against one of the temple walls. Oikawa pulls Iwaizumi down to sit beside him without a second thought, thigh pressed to thigh with their joined hands stretched out to rest atop their legs.

It takes Iwaizumi a moment to settle, the touch and heat of Oikawa's body against his sending a spark spider-webbing up his spine and under his chilled skin. His eyes flick back and forth in the darkness, but there's very little traffic in this out of the way corner of the temple grounds, the light from the spotlights trailing off just before their feet, leaving them coated in a comfortable shadow.

When he does relax, it's with a low exhale, puffy and white in front of his lips, before the cold air snatches it away into nothingness.

He can see Oikawa smile out of the corner of his eye only seconds before the pressure of Oikawa's cheek settles against his shoulder. Oikawa's hand twists in his, his thumb working across the gloved back of Iwaizumi's palm in a slow and deliberate circle.

"You know," Oikawa says, voice pitched in a low whisper that would have been inaudible in the crowd of the courtyard only moments ago. "I've been thinking about you ever since you got home the other day."

Iwaizumi swallows, Oikawa's hair tickling against his throat as it bobs.

"I know," he says. "I was thinking about you too."

"You should be," Oikawa says with a self-assured arrogance that would probably be unattractive on anyone else, but to Iwaizumi's ears it only sounds like seduction. "I've thought about your hands pulling in my hair. I've thought about your nails against my back. About how I miss the feeling of squeezing tight around your cock, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi's face is burning, his cheeks flaring red from more than just the cold. He groans, short and clipped, tossing his head back to let it thump against the temple wall behind them. "Not now, shittykawa," he hisses.

"Eh?" Oikawa turns to look at him, his expression completely innocent. "Why not? If I've been suffering like this then shouldn't you have to endure it too?"

"Ass," Iwaizumi barks out. "What makes you think I haven't been?"

Oikawa hums, fanning his fingers in Iwaizumi's so he can draw the tips of them teasingly against the side of Iwaizumi's thigh. 

"I guess that's true."

Iwaizumi shudders, shoving against Oikawa with his shoulder.

"Cut it out," he says under his breath.

"I'll behave, I'll behave," Oikawa says.

His fingers relax in Iwaizumi's hands, his body shifting to lean more heavily against Iwaizumi's side.

Iwaizumi sighs.

"You know, my mom's going to be fine," Oikawa says in puffs of air visible only out of the corner of Iwaizumi's eye.

"What?" Iwaizumi turns to look to Oikawa as much as he can't without jostling him out of their current position.

"My mother," Oikawa says, his lips carefully curling around each syllable in emphasis. "It's nothing life-threatening, Iwa-chan. She's going to be all right."

"Why the hell are you telling me--" Iwaizumi mutters before the squeeze of Oikawa's hand on his silences him.

"Because you're worried, aren't you? That's why you asked me out here tonight. Why you aren't sitting on a warm couch with your mom and dad watching Arashi and SMAP and every girl in AKB."

Iwaizumi can't even give voice to his denial because he knows that Oikawa's right. There's just one part that he's missing.

"I wasn't worried about her, you idiot."

"I know," Oikawa says with practiced ease. "You're worried about me."

In the chill of the winter air, the flush on Iwaizumi's cheeks feels like it burns hotter than ever. His rough exhale is his only reply before Oikawa presses on.

"You think that I'm caught up about her. That I'm upset and worked up because there's nothing that either of us can do about it. That's the sort of way that you think, isn't it Iwa-chan?"

"So what if it is?" Iwaizumi mutters, effortlessly caught in the truth of Oikawa's words.

"There's nothing wrong with it," Oikawa says lightly. His fingers twist in Iwaizumi's, stroking against them. "That's what makes you Iwa-chan. I'm just telling you it's going to be all right."

Iwaizumi can feel his breath drain from his lungs with the pressure of Oikawa's words. He feels the chill of winter sting against his throat all the way down as he breathes back in.

It's a little bit ridiculous, in a way. He doesn't realize when it changed. Oikawa had always been the one to support their team, to hold those around him up by the tenacity of his ability to have faith and adapt to the world around him. But it was always Oikawa who'd needed someone at his side. Without someone to put his focus to, without a pillar to lean on, it had always seemed like he was only moments away from crumbling and falling.

Iwaizumi had been that support. Oikawa had always been a constant in Iwaizumi's life in the same way that Iwaizumi had been one for him. It was only in the past year that what was constant and familiar had began to change. Only in the past year had Iwaizumi turned away from him only to find his way back. It was slow at first, a tilt of his head, a turn of his shoulders, but somewhere along the line he'd broken into an all-out run.

He'd been Oikawa's pillar, but he didn't even realize that in the time they'd spend apart his own foundation had started to slip away from under him. He didn't realize how heavy the weight over his heart had grown but here Oikawa was offering to carry it with him all the same.

A strong wind rushes down off the mountains and over the crowd, so at least Iwaizumi has the cold to blame for the stinging at the corners of his eyes. He ducks his head as brushes away the stray moisture there with a knuckle, his fingers twisting around Oikawa's.

"Yeah," he breathes out into the night. "It's gonna be fine."

All around them, the air of the temple has started to take on a different energy. The crowds in the distance are pressing forward, up towards the altar where the temple bell is housed. Flicking his watch out from under his coat, Iwaizumi checks the time: 11:58.

"Looks like it's about to get started," he says, moving to stand from the bench, but the firm pressure of Oikawa's hand on his keeps him grounded. He turns, slumping back down in his half-aborted attempts with a scowl. "Come on, shittykawa, what are you waiting for?"

"You don't need to see the bell to hear it, Iwa-chan," Oikawa chides him, pulling on Iwaizumi's arm with an iron grip until he's fully seated again. "Let's stay here."

"You don't want to go up?" Iwaizumi quirks one eyebrow in question, turning to give Oikawa his full attention.

The face that meets him in the dim light is nothing short of pure seduction. Oikawa's eyes are lidded, his lips curled. He leans moves forward, turning Iwaizumi in his grip, trapping him on the bench with hands on either side of him as he edges ever closer.

"I like where we are right now."

Iwaizumi's pulse races. They're out of the way, but there's no way that no one will notice. Still, his body betrays him. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips in anticipation of what's to come. His eyes flick up to the waiting desire in Oikawa's eyes.

"Oikawa," he breathes out before the bell begins to chime, Oikawa's lips closing over his with a welcome heat that Iwaizumi can't ignore.

\---

Walking home, some part of Iwaizumi feels like he's lighter than air. The crowds are just as bad heading out as they were coming in, if not worse, but he doesn't really mind it. Beside him, Oikawa is quiet as before, but it seems edged with a different sort of energy, a vitality that leaves sparks trailing across Iwaizumi's skin at every brush of Oikawa's arm against his, at every squeeze of their fingers together.

It isn't until they're past the parking lot and nearly halfway home until Oikawa speaks, no longer having to raise his voice to be heard over the din of the crowd.

"You know, your mom was saying that she wishes you'd find yourself a nice roommate when you move out of the dorms."

Iwaizumi catches Oikawa in a sideways glance that's all incredulity and doubt. "You were talking to her about that?"

"She brought it up," Oikawa says with a shrug. "'You know our Hajime,' she said, 'he does all right on his own, but he seems more like himself when he's got his friends around.'"

Iwaizumi can feel his lip curl in disgust at the sentiment before he can even voice words to his reaction.

"Don't make that kind of face!" Oikawa protests. "Besides, what's wrong with having people around?"

"What's wrong with it is that kind of creepy way of talking about it," Iwaizumi spits back. "There's no way my mom said that."

"Well, maybe I paraphrased it a little bit," Oikawa says, seeming pleased with himself regardless. "But the point of it is, you're moving out at the end of this year, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I was going to try to find my own place," Iwaizumi says, his tone settling into something that's more like normal. His cheeks tinge redder as he considers his next words. "Maybe...somewhere closer to your place, I haven't started looking yet."

Oikawa hums, a low, drawn out sound that draws Iwaizumi's gaze to his face. He finds Oikawa watching him, eyes sharp and his smile sharper. "You know, Iwa-chan," he says, "There's an easy way to solve that problem."

Iwaizumi knows what he's going to say. He can feel it coming in the tightness at the back of his throat, the tingle in his fingertips that has nothing to do with the chill of the night air.

It isn't like he's never thought about moving in with Oikawa. The thought has crossed his mind more times than he's really comfortable with admitting. He's thought it every time he's woken up with the weight of Oikawa's body twisted with his. It's burned at the back of his mind every time he's frantically checked the train schedules late at night only to face an evening of frustration and Oikawa's voice in his ear trying to let his hands do their best to mimic familiar touches across his skin.

It isn't that he'd thought that Oikawa would never ask him, either. He knows the way Oikawa thinks, the specific sort of codependence and connection that brings Oikawa comfort and that drew them both together to be what they are now. It feels like an inevitability, like something he's waited for, just not knowing when the time would be right for it to happen, but it feels right now.

"Yeah," he says, turning away from Oikawa's confused glance with a flustered realization that the question hasn't actually been asked. "Shit," he mutters under his breath, half-laughter and half-embarrassment. 

"Iwa-chan?" Oikawa's giving him a look like he's lost his mind and he's not completely convinced that he hasn't.

"There's an easy solution," he says, schooling his expression as he looks out to the neon-lit streets in front of them. "So let's solve it. Let's find a place."

Oikawa catches up with him there, but he's always been quick to find a way to follow just so he can overtake the lead. He squeezes Iwaizumi's hand in his own, swinging their joined arms together until Iwaizumi jerks the motion into stillness.

"I thought you'd never ask, Iwa-chan," he says, the playful sing-song still effusive in his voice.

"Shut up," Iwaizumi retorts. "I was waiting for you to ask."

"You beat me to it!" is Oikawa's indignant reply.

"Just because you kept beating around the damn bush."

"So mean! I'm being bullied!"

"Keep it down!" Iwaizumi hisses. 

Despite Iwaizumi's worry, the houses around them remain as still as the night around them. Most people have found their way home from the temple by now, or flipped the TV off to get some well deserved rest before the start of the year. The quiet that settles in following Iwaizumi's words seems charged with its stillness.

Oikawa notices it. He turns, his gaze tracking along the walls that rise up on either side of the street lit in fluorescent orange. The glowing lines are broken only by gates and driveways of their neighbor's houses and the occasional cross street.

The silence holds a moment longer before Oikawa's eyes find Iwaizumi again, his voice a whisper of what it was before.

"It's just us, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi swallows. They might be walking hand in hand down a public street, in plain view of anyone who might come along or the windows from any of the houses nearby, but the space that divides him and Oikawa is suddenly intimate and for them alone. His tongue darts out to taste the kiss that Oikawa left on his lips at midnight only to find the traces of it have vanished by now. He wants more.

"Yeah," he says, trying to keep the strain from his voice.

Oikawa falls in a step closer to him, their shoulders brushing with each movement of their bodies together.

"We're almost home," Oikawa says, his voice leaving his lips in white wisps on the night air.

"Your dad--" Iwaizumi starts, then stops, not sure exactly what it is that he's trying to say.

"Ah, that's right I didn't mention it, did I?" Oikawa glances at Iwaizumi out of the corner of his eye, his lips curled in a sharp-edged smile. "He sent me a text earlier. He said the hospital's going to let him spend the night there."

Iwaizumi's eyes widen, his nose flaring wide as he sucks in a tight breath. Oikawa doesn't need to spell it out for him to know what that means. His fingers squeeze and pulse against Oikawa's hand in an unconscious gesture and he knows damn well the sort of self-satisfied look that's probably on Oikawa's face right now.

"Fuck," he hisses between tight lips.

"I hope you do," Oikawa replies.

"You ass," Iwaizumi spits out.

"You can do it there, if you want."

Iwaizumi's hand pulls against Oikawa's. His feet moving faster against the pavement, footsteps echoing down the road home, counting the distance until he has Oikawa with him, until the two of them are alone. He can feel the tremor of Oikawa's hand in his that he knows means he's trying his hardest not to laugh his ass off but right now he doesn't give a damn. So what if Oikawa knows what he wants? It's only a few more moments before Oikawa catches up with him, and that's the surest sign he knows of that Oikawa wants it too.

They've barely got their shoes off and they don't even make it past the entryway before Oikawa's pulling him in. Iwaizumi doesn't bother putting up any sort of resistance. His hands seek out the heat of Oikawa's body, twisting his own until they fit together, lips against lips. They lose their coats in the entryway, their shirts on the stairs, and their pants trace a path down the hallway to Oikawa's room.

Iwaizumi's hands never leave Oikawa's body. They trace over his shoulders, his arms, nails skating across the tight cord of muscle over his ribs and lower. He's already memorized the shape and feel of Oikawa, every sharp edge and smooth expanse of skin is a welcome and familiar touch under his fingertips, but somehow it still feels like it's been an eternity since he last felt them. It's been ages since he pressed hollows into that skin just to see the way that it makes Oikawa's brows pull together, the way it makes his lips curve with the promise of Iwaizumi's name waiting on his breath.

The pounding of his heart in his ears echos the need burning inside him. He wants to touch, he has to touch, because he doesn't know how long it's going to be before he has this chance again.

Somehow, they both make it to the bed, Oikawa's lips locked with his as his hips grind down, insistent, feeling the heat of Oikawa's erection through the trappings of both their boxers. Oikawa's arms are around him, caging him in with the tight muscles of his biceps, pulling him close so their chests move flush against each other with every shift of Iwaizumi's body.

He's dizzy, breathless. He wants nothing more than to drag their boxers away and bury himself inside the welcome heat of Oikawa's body but he knows that he can't. With one arm braced against the bed he finds enough strength to push himself up, breaking their kiss with a wet gasp, his eyes meeting Oikawa's hazy and unfocused gaze.

"Oikawa," he pants. His palm is still firm against Oikawa's thigh, stroking an unconscious path up and under the hem of his boxers. Iwaizumi swallows, trying to remember the words he had only moments ago.

"We need--"

"Right, right."

Oikawa squirms underneath him, one arm casting out until he touches on the nightstand. He pulls the drawer open, his fingers deftly producing a condom and a small packet of lube seemingly out of thin air.

Iwaizumi closes his hand over them, long fingers curling around Oikawa's hand, and presses in to kiss him again. He doesn't even bother pulling their boxers all the way off. He shoves Oikawa's down far enough so that he can push a finger into him and that's enough. It's different this way, his arm still trapped between Oikawa's thighs, every thrust of his hips echoed with the slide of taut skin and muscle against his hands. He loves it. He wants more of it.

"Shit," Iwaizumi hisses, watching Oikawa's back arch beneath him as he pounds two, then three fingers inside of Oikawa with thoughtless abandon.

"Shit," he groans, having just enough sense to pull himself out and work the condom down over his length.

There's no room for him between Oikawa's legs this way, but Oikawa's voice is already thick with need, hitched with desperation that doesn't allow for even the few seconds it would take to pull their underwear the rest of the way off.

His hands find their way to Oikawa's hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and without a word of warning he flips Oikawa onto his stomach.

"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa yelps, a squawk of indignation pushing through the thick heat in his throat.

"Shut up," Iwaizumi pants. He curls over Oikawa's back, his forehead pressed to the nape of his neck, Oikawa's hair tickling between his eyes. "It's easier," he mouths over Oikawa's spine. "I want you now."

Oikawa is still under him for a moment before his shoulders start to shake, the shivers of it curling down his back until his hips tremble in Iwaizumi's hands.

"Don't laugh, you ass," Iwaizumi growls, hands spanning over Oikawa's ass to spread him open.

"I'm not--" Oikawa protests between breathless giggles.

Iwaizumi draws himself up, his cock pressed between the crease of Oikawa's ass and Oikawa's laughter abruptly cuts off with a gasp.

"Iwa-chan," he breathes. His hands find purchase in the sheets of his bed, his back and hips rolling in one sinuous motion, urging Iwaizumi closer to his target. "Please."

"Fuck," Iwaizumi says, driving himself in with a low moan.

He doesn't bother to try for any semblance of self-control. The waiting heat inside of Oikawa is too much all at once but he only wants more of it. He feels his hips driving and slapping against the skin of Oikawa's ass before he can think to set any sort of rhythm. His hands card up across the expanse of Oikawa's back, finding the edge of his shoulderblades, the twist and power in Oikawa's arms as he presses up and off the bed.

Every motion of Oikawa's is simple power and grace, driving himself harder and harder onto the waiting heat of Iwaizumi's cock. Iwaizumi welcomes each one with the power of his thrusts. His fingers drag tracks in the sweat beading against Oikawa's biceps until he finds the fragile curve of his wrists.

"Oikawa," he gasps against the shell of Oikawa's ear.

Against his chest, he feels the shudder that runs down Oikawa's spine straight to the unending movement of his hips.

"Oikawa," he says again, the stuttered moan from another thrust carried under the words. Oikawa lets out a choked gasp under him, a pleading whine carried just on the edges of his breath.

Oikawa squeezes tight around him and it's everything that Iwaizumi wants. His voice echoes Oikawa's name until he feels his throat go hoarse from it, his body jerking and pounding until his rhythm is erratic. There's no thought in his mind except for the heat of their bodies together, every point of contact between himself burning white, the fire of it racing under his skin. He squeezes his eyes shut. He slams himself into Oikawa and his orgasm takes him.

The world around him dissolves into hazy pleasure for a moment before Oikawa's voice snaps him out of it. Beneath him, Oikawa's still writhing, still driving himself onto Iwaizumi's cock to draw him through his climax, but Iwaizumi knows the motion well enough.

He shifts, his body already growing sluggish, closing lips and teeth over the back of Oikawa's neck. Oikawa whimpers, Iwaizumi's name passing from his lips like a plea. In answer, Iwaizumi draws one hand down along the line of Oikawa's arm. His palm presses flat and hot over Oikawa's chest, fingertips dragging against taut nipples before he finds the heat of Oikawa's erection curled in his hand.

It doesn't take much, only a few strokes, the drag of Iwaizumi's thumb over the head, before Oikawa's shuddering under him, come spattering against his stomach, the bedsheets, and Iwaizumi's fingers.

The tableau only holds a moment before Oikawa's arms go slack, his chest flopping hard against the mattress, with Iwaizumi's arm caught under it.

"Oi--" Iwaizumi stammers, a strangled noise cutting him off as the abrupt movement of Oikawa under him with his cock still inside Oikawa sends a jolt running up his spine.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa murmurs into the sheets, sleepy and content. "You're so good to me."

"You jerk," Iwaizumi says in a huff. He shoves off from where he's fallen against Oikawa's back, carefully extricating his arm and tucking himself away before he allows himself the release of stretching out on the bed at Oikawa's side.

Oikawa turns toward him immediately, like some kind of animal seeking warmth, and Iwaizumi doesn't hesitate to shift, opening his arms so that Oikawa can burrow into them, his nose tickling against the line of Iwaizumi's jaw, his breath hot over the hollow of his throat.

It's not exactly comfortable. There's no easy place for Iwaizumi to put his arms where they won't leave a kink in his shoulder or fall asleep after fifteen minutes, but he can feel the rise and fall of Oikawa's breath against his chest, against his neck, and that at least makes it tolerable for now. He knows he'll have to leave before too long, that neither of them are quite ready to answer to their parents if Iwaizumi stayed the night, waking up to the sight of Oikawa's hair drawing warm lines against the pillow, of Oikawa's hands still pressed against his chest. He has to leave soon, but soon doesn't mean now. So until then, his fingertips find their way to Oikawa's back, tracing down the bumpy line of his spine and back up again. 

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, whispering into the stillness of the room.

"What is it?" Iwaizumi answers, his voice soft and low.

"Happy New Year."


End file.
